Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Light joys are easily vented; such as this Is entertained with an ecstasy, And by degrees expressed: but as the full Fruition of a thing we most delight in Is checked with daily fear of losing it, So find I now my rising heart kept down With doubt of such a wished happiness, Hadst thou, as I beheld the Actors looks When he declared his resolution, To my attentive Patron, thou wouldst rest, Assured of the event, and swear he needed No other weapon to destroy a man; His eyes would have outstared a Basilisk, They were two Comets that are surely fatal. May they portend more mischief to this House, Than those that blasted ours and our whole Country; But in this strong desire of a revenge Discretion must direct our passion; And therefore let it be thy chiefest care Neither in word, nor gesture, to disclose Thy fortunate discovery, till the end Shall crown the work, and banish all our fears; My task shallbe to make it profitable No less than pleasant, by his foreknown fall we'll raise ourselves to wealth and liberty, The great allurements of those bold attempts, Wherein the Vassal dares affront his Lord, And quite shake off the yoke of his subjection. Our Magnificos think us phlegmatic rascals Created but for blows, and scorn, so far In love with servitude as scarce to wish Revenge or freedom. They shall find at length Patience oppressed will into fury turn; Nature, in spite of fortune gave us minds That cannot like our bodies be enthralled; But soft, I doubt our early privacy May render us suspected; leave to me The manage of th'affair; only let thy Virtue be now the dumb man's secrecy. THe hateful sound of Imperiale's name Would strike me deaf, my dear Iustinian, Were it not tempered by thy gentle tongue, That had the art to make m'embrace and trust A reconciled foe, who hath rejected With scorn my hopeful son, as if his birth, Fortune, and parts, had not deserved that flirt His gilded daughter; but I tax not thee, Whose friendship is a gem without a foil, And hardly can be valued, never matched: I know thy milder studies chiefly bent To weed out Rancour from the minds of men, Smoothing rough nature with morality, And this becomes Philosophers: but I That do profess the art of killing men, Encouraged by all States, imposed by some Must follow other precepts: he is sure Of many wrongs, that will but one endure.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Light joyes are eas'ly vented; ſuch as this Is entertained with an extaſie, And by degrees expreſt: but as the full Fruition of a thing we moſt delight in Is checkt with daily feare of loſing it, So finde I now my riſing heart kept downe With doubt of ſuch a wiſhed happineſſe, Had'ſt thou, as I beheld the Actors looks When he declar'd his reſolution, To my attentive Patron, thou wouldſt reſt, Aſſur'd of the event, and ſweare he needed No other weapon to diſtroy a man; His eies would have outſtar'd a Baſiliske, They were two Comets that are ſurely fatall. May they portend more miſcheife to this Houſe, Then thoſe that blaſted ours and our whole Country; But in this ſtrong deſire of a revenge Diſcretion muſt direct our paſſion; And therefore let it bee thy cheifeſt care Neither in word, nor geſture, to diſcloſe Thy fortunate diſcoverie, till the end Shall crowne the worke, and baniſh all our feares; My taske ſhalbe to make it profitable No leſſe then pleaſant, by his foreknown fall Weel rayſe our ſelves to wealth and libertie, The great allurements of thoſe bold attempts, Wherein the Vaſſall dares affront his Lord, And quite ſhake off the yoke of his ſubjection. Our Magnificos think us flegmatick raſcalls Created but for blowes, and ſcorne, ſoe far In love with ſervitude as ſcarce to wiſh Revenge or fredome. They ſhall finde at length Patience oppreſt will into fury turne; Nature, in ſpite of fortune gave us minds That cannot like our bodies be enthral'd; But ſoft, I doubt our earlie privacie May render vs ſuſpected; leave to me The mannage of th'affaire; only let thy Vertue be now the dumbe mans ſecrecy. THe hatefull ſound of Imperiale's name Would ſtrike me deafe, my deare Iuſtinian, Were it not temper'd by thy gentle tongue, That had the art to make m'embrace and truſt A reconciled foe, who hath rejected With ſcorne my hopefull ſonne, as if his birth, Fortune, and parts, had not deſerv'd that flirt His gilded daughter; but I taxe not thee, Whoſe friendſhip is a gem without a foile, And hardly can be valu'd, never matcht: I know thy milder ſtudies chiefly bent To weed out Rancor from the minds of men, Smoothing rough nature with morality, And this becomes Philoſophers: but I That doe profeſſe the art of killing men, Encourag'd by all States, impos'd by ſome Muſt follow other precepts: he is ſure Of many wrongs, that will but one endure.